


The Curious Incident of the Fruits in the Night-Time

by Melo_Mapo



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin caught the Dad feels, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26097607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: One small green creature learns that actions have consequences.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 154





	The Curious Incident of the Fruits in the Night-Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maggie_GoldenStar1530](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_GoldenStar1530/gifts).



> Ad: kid  
> Ad'ika: kiddo  
> Buir: parent  
> All other Mando'a is translated in parenthesis after it's used.

Despite the late hour, there is still activity around the spaceport, and Din is busy negotiating their docking fee for the night. It’s the matter of an instant of inattention: one moment, the kid is climbing a pile of crates with some local spaceport urchins, the next the whole pile is tipping over, and kids and fruits spill across the floor. 

“ _Ad’ika_!” 

Din runs over, along with the port agent he was talking to. Din quickly assesses the situation as he nears the scene: the crates weren’t very tall, and none of the kids are stuck under any of them. Actually, half of them have already vanished, likely trying to avoid punishment for the spilled goods. One kid is crying loudly, their arm cradled to their chest. Another just looks a bit dazed, and a third is already up, rubbing their rear and limping cautiously towards the dazed one. Din spots his foundling easily: it’s the green legs and rump sticking out of messy, turned over brown robes. 

“ _Ad’ika_ , I’m here, _udesii_ (take it easy), you’re alright.”

The kid coos softly, and Din rights him up, smoothing the robes and checking for injury as he goes. 

“You ok?”

The child nods slowly. Din doubts he had time to use whatever his powers are, but other than a couple bruises and a bump on his large fuzzy head, the green terror is unharmed. Din hugs him briefly before letting go. The kid then coos and his ears drooped guiltily as he sees the fruits strewn about the floor. Din is wondering about how to make this a teaching moment about decisions, risk-taking, and consequences, when the port agent, who was checking on the other kids, approaches them and says:

“Well, I told them and I’ll tell you: your kid and his friends made a mess, they better clean it up by tomorrow morning when this shipment is to be picked up.”

Din stands up, the little one gripping his leg, and tells the agent: 

“I apologize for the inconvenience, I will see to it that it’s done, and the owner compensated for their loss.”

The agent leaves after finishing up the Razor Crest’s landing paperwork, and by the time Din glances down at the kid, his ears are drooping so far down they’ll soon touch the ground. 

“Hey, it’s not so bad, with help from the others you’ll be done soon.” 

But when Din turns to find the other children, _ba'slan shev'la_ (strategic disappearance), they are long gone - hopefully heading for a medic.

“Well, it’s all yours to clean up then.” 

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say, and Din feels dread pool in his stomach as the small face scrunches up for what is sure to be an epic cry. 

“ _Ad’ika_ ,” he says firmly, kneeling on the floor to be level with the child. The child takes in a big gulp of air, and Din puts on a warning tone that works great on bounties, but only 50% of the time on the tyke: 

“Listen, _ad’ika_. It is unfair that the other children escaped. But even if it’s not all your mess, you are the only one left to clean it up. If you don’t, we might be in trouble with the port agent.” 

The little one lets out a sigh so big Din wonders how his lungs could contain so much air. The kid may not speak, but he’s such a drama bantha that he often doesn’t need to. Din counts backwards in his head: three, two, one… and there it is now, the big black eyes are full of water, and hope, and he clasps his hands in an unmistakable begging fashion. Din bites his lip to keep the laughter out of his voice as he says, gently: 

“No, _ad’ika_. This is your responsibility. I did not choose to go play on the crates. Besides, you know I need to do repairs on the ship.” 

Din is never sure how much of his speech the kid fully comprehends, but he certainly gets the rebuttal, as he sulkily turns around and heads towards the mess at about half the speed he is capable of, which considering his short legs, is a glacial pace. By the time he gets to the scene of the crime, Din’s heart has cracked, and in spite of himself, the bounty hunter walks over and joins his foundling among the colorful produce. Thankfully, the top crate was full of the most resilient fruits, and only a handful of the various varieties have exploded or are bruised beyond repair. 

“I’ll get you started, and then I really have to go do those repairs, ok?”

The kid claps his hands excitedly and coos. Din smiles and shakes his head before lining up the crates and placing a few fruits of each sort in the appropriate container as an example. He also quickly puts aside all the damaged fruits.

“Hey, this is not so bad. I had a game like this when I was little. Here, let’s put the round, rough yellow fruit here. See how the crate is the right shape for it? The purple spiky ones will go there. Those… those are apples I believe. Where do you think they fit? Ah yes, good job, let’s have those red apples there. What about those large oblong green ones, with the stripes? Yeah, you’re right, the largest box is for them.”

Din observes as his foundling gets started on the sorting, and it does bring him back to a time long ago, with plasti shapes of various colors he had to fit in an infernal box that had matching holes. As his foundling gets focused on the task and confident enough not to seek Din’s approval with every fruit picked up and placed in a crate, the bounty hunter heads to the ship to grab an electrical panel that needs his attention, bringing the tool box and the project back and sitting nearby to work on it. 

His foundling hums to himself as he works and Din smiles. This is also reminiscent of his youth, though after… after. Whenever his _buir_ would work on his armor or weapons, Din would tag along and sit with him, often practicing his Mando’a or doing homework. His _buir_ had the habit of humming too, snatches of songs, or melodies made upon the spot. As his hands work and his mind wanders, Din finds himself telling all this to his _ad_ , describing his _buir’_ s armor, the smell of oil and clean beskar, the lyrics his memory can dredge up. The more he speaks, the more the memories flood him, and as he tells them, he keeps his eyes resolutely on the wiring he has to repair. Even through the helmet, he knows that if he looks at his foundling now, the emotions will overwhelm him, and it will not do to cry in front of the kid, even if he doesn’t see it. So he keeps his voice as smooth as possible, and tells him more about the workshop, the colors, the vocabulary he never seemed to pronounce right but that his _buir_ would patiently correct. 

A couple of hours later, the panel is done, and Din falls silent. It’s late into the night now and they are alone in the hangar. The child isn’t fully done, so Din goes to help him, but the green monster bats his hands away, and pointedly picks up the fruit Din was about to grab and goes to put it in the right crate. 

“Ok, ok, it’s your job, I get it.”

The kid picks up one of those large green oval fruits next, and it’s comically big in his small arms as he totters slowly and carefully to the crate. Each step looks like he will keel over, but he never does, and Din wonders if maybe the rugrat is lightening the load a bit on that one. Din has often told his foundling that he should not use his powers in public, and it seems like the kid is taking the lesson to heart. That said, the hangar is empty, and Din is getting hungry, which means the child is probably ravenous. They had an early dinner before landing, but that was a while back. Din checks for cameras, and, finding none, he approaches his kid and crouches. 

“Hey, _ad’ika_.”

The kid conscientiously goes to put his current fruit down in the right crate before turning his full attention on Din. 

“We’re alone, _ad’ika_. Do you want to practice with the fruits? Finish it and go get supper?”

At the mention of food, the kid ears perk way up, and Din chuckles. He’s planning on doing a tasting later with all those fruits that hit the ground a bit too hard. The little one loves everything sweet and juicy, those should be no exception. 

After making a show of checking the room for other people, going as far as leaning on Din’s leg to peek behind him, the kid turns to the dozen or so fruits left to deal with and raises both hands. His eyebrows crease, and his eyes narrow as he pulls his focus together. Din has seen him use his powers many times before, as they try to practice when it’s just the two of them, but he doesn’t tire of the comically serious look that comes over the kid’s face, nor does repetition lessen the awe of seeing the power take effect. Din is expecting the kid to move one fruit at a time, but he must be famished, because all the remaining fruits gently lift from the ground. They hover, a bit wobbly, to the appropriate crate before starting to lower, slowly… then dropping the rest of the way as the little one lets go of them abruptly. His foundling looks quite tired now, so Din picks him up:

“ _Ori'jate, ad’ika_. (Very good, little one.) Do you want some fruit for dinner?”

Suddenly revived, the kid squeaks and Din laughs as he picks up his tool box and project with his free hand, his feet light, and his soul joyful as he heads for the Razor Crest.


End file.
